Mellow Shaggy Fellows of Carolina

"Hey Cancer Boy!"

The voice can to me from across the churchyard to where I was sitting on a stone bench, reading a book. Beside me were a wall of names of deceased and interred former church members and loved owns. The slabs were plain, with only names and dates. A few of the slabs had gold flowers wedge into them by recent visitors.

I looked up from my book. It was brilliantly sunny, and quite hot and humid. I could tell the voice had come from Red. She was walking towards to place beside the church where the photographer was taking pictures after the wedding ceremony, which had ended about fifteen minutes earlier in the chapel indoors. When I looked up at her she waved and smiled. Everyone was having a good time.

I knew that it would take a while, so I had brought a book, The Emperor of All Maladies, a paperback copy of which I had picked up in Colorado the day before my flight. When I told Red that I had bought it, I fumbled on the title, calling it The Emperor's New Malady.

By then we had been in Hickory three fulls days, after landing at Charlotte Douglas, and having been picked up at the airport by one of her family members.

One the first day we drove up to the Blue Ridge Parkway, and to the top of Mount Mitchell. In the late afternoon we followed the parkway down the switchbacks into Asheville. As we looked for a place to park, I told Red a little of the history of the town, especially as a location for tuberculosis sanitariums and hospitals, back in the day when that disease had been a terrible ravager of the people. I'd learned some of the history when I had taken the Thomas Wolfe tour in 2009. Wolfe had grown in the boarding house that his brother operated for TB patients and other convalescing folk. His father had fittingly carved cemetery ornaments.

Back in Hickory we stayed at the very comfortable Hampton Inn by the freeway, along with most of the rest of the visiting family members. Red isn't big on the powdered eggs that they serve at the Hampton's breakfast, so we instead ate our early meal at the Waffle House (first time since Tucson) and even at the Cracker Barrel (my first time since Binghampton, NY five years ago).

Except for the time we spent in the airport (alas CDL is an abysmal experience), the entire trip was one exquisite and fun experience. Our last evening featured a catered dance with an open bar. I taught Red the steps to the jitterbug during what was billed by the locals as the Carolina shag dance.

After the event was over, before getting on the freeway towards the airport or far-flung land destinations in other states, of of Red's family stopped and ate at the Mellow Mushroom, the local version of which is among the newer franchises of this 60's remnant Atlanta-based pizza chain. To reach our table, we passed a tall sculptures of the blissed out corporate mascot, as wells ones in and other 60's era counterculture iconography.

I ordered the Shiitake special, which comes with an olive oil base. Red got one that had a gluten free crust. As we waited for our order, I chatted with a fellow across the table. He lives in Los Angeles and does animation for a major studio. I knew he was originally from Buffalo so I brought up that city.

"Millard Fillmore," I said. He laughed at the mention of the name, and that it would be the first thing I would recollect from my visit there ten years ago.

"Buffalo is the birthplace of the modern American hospitality industry," I told him. The idea was completely new to him. I proceeded to explain why.

There is nothing quite like good conversation over pizza.